Postcards from Hell
by Rude's Mom
Summary: And JT mini-Jack O'Neill thought that going back to high school was hell. Takes place during chapter four of "Rebuilding." DARK.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Postcards from Hell

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Buffy or Stargate. I wish I did. All characters will be returned the their proper owners when I finish playing with them.

**Spoilers:** Stargate through end of season 7 (esp. _Fragile Balance_); all of Buffy (esp. _Anne_)

**A/N:** This fanfic takes place during chapter 4 of "Rebuilding" and is for anyone who wanted to know just what happened to JT in the hell dimension. The first chapters are sans Buffy.

**Pairing:** JT/Buffy (eventually)

**Rated for:** language, violence, maybe a little nookie at the end

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**Prologue**

Memorial Day morning was unseasonably warm in Colorado Springs. The traffic was starting to pick up as people headed off to the various holiday picnics and events. People with friends and family, people with places to go. Real people with real lives, not throw away clones like Jonathan Thorsonn.

Get a grip, JT thought to himself as he left his apartment. At least the Air Force, in the persons of George Hammond and Jack O'Neill, had given him some of the trappings of a life. As far as the state of Colorado was concerned, he was an emancipated minor surviving on a stipend from following the tragic death of both of his parents. Unfortunately, the stipend only covered the most modest of living expenses after paying rent as anything more might raise a red flag.

His new life revolved around not raising red flags so he had to fit in with his new peers. Ignoring his penchant for Mad magazine and his Gameboy, fitting in with a bunch of teenagers was much harder than anyone would have supposed. True, his disdain for the administration matched that of his fellow inmates in intensity, but it wasn't for the same reason. All the self-esteem building in the world wouldn't make up for what he considered a substandard education and studying for standardized tests was not the same thing as getting an education. The other students had never known anything else and just despised "the man" because it was what kids did; hell, he, or rather Jack, had felt the same way back in the sixties. His new peers were interested in sex, drugs, and rock and roll. As far as JT was concerned, it was a) off-limits (and creepy), b) not something he wanted to get mixed up with (the prescription meds after Iraq had been hard enough to get off of), and c) who in their right mind would call that music. Yeah, he really fit in.

Most extracurricular sports had been deemed off limits as either too visible or too dangerous. He could live without football and, with his current and oh so scrawny frame, it really hadn't been a viable option anyway. Baseball and basketball had never really appealed to him. Hockey was his sport of choice but that had been deemed to be too close to something Jack O'Neill would have done. Swim team meant wearing a Speedo, which was _never_ going to happen. Given the choice of wrestling or track and field, he chose the latter with the understanding that he could never win a major event.

He had joined a couple of clubs, mainly to pad out his application to the Air Force Academy. The Spanish club hadn't been terribly stimulating but at least it didn't scream geek like the chess club, which he also joined. Jack O'Neill version 2.0 was officially a geek. The only saving grace was that he had not joined the math club too.

Could his life get any worse? School sucked, his friends had blown him off, and his summer job prospects were less than satisfactory. Sure he loved pizza but he so did not want to spend the next three months making them. Life at sixteen was depressing. And where the hell was he anyway? He had been walking around aimlessly for the last couple of hours and now found himself in an unfamiliar part of town . "We help the hopeless" read the sign next to the entrance to the building. What the hell, JT thought, and he opened the door and entered the "Family Home."


	2. Day One

**Chapter 1: Day One**

JT woke up lying face down. The left side of his face rested on something cold and rough, concrete, maybe, or stone.

Okay, what ran over him? Jay took a silent inventory of body parts. Everything seemed to still be attached, although he wasn't sure if that was a good thing. His body hadn't felt this abused in long time. Actually _this_ body had never felt this bad before, not even when it was dying.

He peered through his barely opened eyelids trying to figure out where the hell he was. The lighting was poor, but not poor enough to disguise his location. He was in a cell. Great. He closed his eyes.

The last thing he remembered was walking through Colorado Springs. It had been early in the day, not yet noon he thought. He had gone into a building, then nothing. They must have grabbed him there. But who were _they_?

He opened his eyes again, hoping for clues. Wherever he was, it wasn't new construction or a makeshift holding cell. The smells confirmed it. This place was old and well used. If the rogue branch of the NID had snatched him, they had probably taken him out of the country. On the other hand, the place kind of reminded him of Sokar's little dungeon of horrors on Netu. Had a Goa'uld managed to find him? Please let it not be Ba'al, he thought. There was no way he could survive another round with the sadistic System Lord.

JT slowly rolled over and sat up, his muscles screaming in protest. He realized that he was not alone. Five other people occupied his cell. Not one of them made a sound or even paid any attention to him although four were awake. The fifth was dead, propped up in a corner. Well, he thought, that helped to explain the smell. It also probably meant that the NID, rogue or otherwise, was not responsible for his current predicament.

He was considering introducing himself to his new roommates when he heard footsteps coming from outside the cell. The others, at least the living ones, stood up. JT followed suit just as two of the ugliest guards he had ever seen came to the cell door. Heck, they were so ugly that they made the Unas look good. They were also well armed so, for once, JT decided silence might be a good idea.


	3. Week One

Title: Interlude in Hell

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or Stargate. I wish I did. All characters will be returned the their proper owners when I finish playing with them.

Spoilers: Stargate to season 7 and _Fragile Balance_; all of Buffy (esp. _Anne_)

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Chapter 2: Week One

Keeping his mouth shut that first day had turned out to be a very wise decision on his part. Wherever he was, smart ass remarks were not appreciated. Silence, he had quickly determined, was a _very_ good idea. His first workday had begun with a very explicit lesson pointing that out.

That first day he and his fellow bunkmates had been herded into a large central room. A few furtive glances at his surrounding had revealed that while most of the captives appeared to be longterm residents , a few looked they were newbies. The former wore sack-like garments and their faces betrayed neither thought nor emotion. The latter wore jeans, t-shirts, and the like, their faces filled with confusion or anger. The first person that said something, a young woman with bleached blond hair, was viciously struck down by one of the guards as the newbies watched in horror. She never got up.

Several minute later, a tall man entered the room. JT thought he was human at first but something was off. His eyes didn't glow and his voice fit the range of human normal but to a trained eye, there was something not quite right. It really didn't matter. Once he focused on what the newcomer was saying, it was clear that whoever or whatever he was, he was the enemy.

"Work and you live. Nothing more," the 'man' said. "You are nothing, you deserve nothing. Work and we will let you live."

Yeah, right. Now where had JT heard _that_ before.

The man moved through the crowd. He asked a teenager who he was. JT winced in sympathy at blow that drove "Robby" to his knees. When the question was repeated, the boy said he was no one. The rest of the newbies got the message. After a few additional questions, all appropriately answered, JT and his fellow inmates were taken to their work stations.

Upon leaving the first room, workers were segregated. The largest and strongest were sent to what he later learn was the furnace room. The rest of the workers, JT included, were sent to the mines. Only the guards spoke and that was limited to giving directions to the new workers. The old timers behaved like automatons, silently moving to their stations and picking up where someone had left off. JT lost track of time but eventually work stopped and "food" and "water" was supplied. After the brief respite, the work began again.

By the time he was returned to his cell, JT had never felt more exhausted. The fact that his bed was a stone floor did not deter him from falling almost immediately to sleep. The next morning, the guards once again came. This time, though, he was taken directly to the mines. The cycle was repeated each day. He didn't even notice that, at some point, the corpse from the first day had been removed from his cell.


	4. Month One

Title: Interlude in Hell

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or Stargate. I wish I did. All characters will be returned the their proper owners when I finish playing with them.

Spoilers: Stargate to season 7 and _Fragile Balance_; all of Buffy (esp. _Anne_)

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Chapter 3: Month One

Jay figured that he had been stuck in the hellhole for close to a month. He might have miscalculated a bit, given that he had lost track of time in his first few days, but he had since regained his bearings. His watch, now carefully hidden, had played a part in that. He had determined a "day" in this place was twenty-six hours and fourteen minutes long based on work day and rest periods.

The guards maintained a ruthlessly regular schedule. In addition to sleep time being precise six hours and eight minutes, the workers in his group were rotated to a different area every fourth day, repeating after three cycles. Their rigid schedule was going to be his ticket out.

He had already begun creating a set of shivs before he figured out the work pattern. Now, he was building up several stockpile of rations as well. He was only able to hide a small amount of food in his clothing, the rest he began hiding in each work area. The other prisoners were already too far gone to notice what he was doing. The guards didn't seem to notice either but he was careful never to appear as if he were any less cowed than the other inmates. SG-1, not to mention various System Lords, would never have believed that any version of Jack O'Neill could keep his mouth shut and his head down.

His food stockpiles were growing slowly, too slowly he thought, but given the limited rations given to the inmates, it was the best he could manage. When the right opportunity to escape presented itself, he'd grab whichever stash was available. If luck was with him, he'd have enough time to grab more than one.


	5. Year One

Title: Interlude in Hell

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or Stargate. I wish I did. All characters will be returned the their proper owners when I finish playing with them.

Spoilers: Stargate to season 7 and _Fragile Balance_; all of Buffy (esp. _Anne_)

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**Chapter 4: Year One**

His original escape plan had failed. He had recognized the smaller pattern of four days at each location, repeating after the third cycle. He had not realized that it had been a pattern within a pattern until his group was unexpectedly relocated to an entirely different facility. Just how far it was from the first facility he had no idea as their food had been drugged before transport. For all he knew, they could have been moved to an entirely different planet. The surprise move had meant that most of his hidden food supplies had been left behind. The only bright spot was that as he always carried his shivs, he was still armed.

Plan B began to take form as soon as he realized Plan A was a no go. Very little planning was involved this time. The first semi-reasonable chance he had, he would make a break for it.

He began eating most of his rations, keeping only a day or so's worth in reserve. He also began testing the local flora and fauna to see what might be edible. Most of his work sites were barren of both but on occasion he got "lucky." It was too bad he had to eat the stuff raw. Palatable, it was not. With the increased calorie intake, he began to gain back some of the strength he had lost in those first months.

His opportunity arrived with a group of new slaves. The overseers had placed them the center of what he called the auditorium. The other workers, including JT, were situated along the walls where they faded into the gloom. An overseer began lecturing the newbies and a fair haired woman was singled out and killed. The lecture continued but JT didn't hear it. He quietly slipped out of the room to freedom while the guards were focusing on the newest captives.


	6. Year Five

Title: Interlude in Hell

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or Stargate. I wish I did. All characters will be returned the their proper owners when I finish playing with them.

Spoilers: Stargate to season 7 and _Fragile Balance_; all of Buffy (esp. _Anne_)

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**Chapter 5: Year Five**

A tall, dirty young man with very old eyes surveyed his current home. He had stumbled across the cavern several months ago. The entrance of the cavern was well hidden and the cavern itself was several days' journey from the nearest slave camp. While it was obvious that it had been occupied at some point in the past, he had no reason to believe that anyone alive knew about its existence. One of his first stabs at housekeeping was burying the scattered remains of the previous inhabitant. As homes went, it wasn't that bad. At least it had running water, courtesy of an underground spring.

By his reckoning, he should be celebrating his "twenty-first" birthday sometime in the next couple of days. Finally old enough to legally drink and not a drop of beer in sight. As far as he knew, there wasn't a drop of beer any where on this godforsaken hellhole. There would soon be some hootch though.

A smirk briefly graced his face as he remembered the moonshine that Daniel had taught the kids on Abydos how to make. Who would have thought the geek knew how to home-brew? Jack certainly hadn't.

He wondered what the archaeologist would have said about the artwork that graced the cavern. A series of images featuring a female figure fighting, and more importantly killing, the creatures that ran this world covered most of the back wall. The final image was that of the woman leading a group of slaves through a portal in the sky. JT figured that it was wishful thinking on somebody's part, possibly that of the bones that he had buried.

His thoughts turned back towards his current experiment in making moonshine. If Danny could do it, he certainly could. Even though it would probably taste like crap, it would still be a reminder of better times and places. Besides, he could always use it as an antiseptic.


	7. Year Ten

Author's note: Foul language ahead.

**Chapter 6: Year Ten**

Ten years. Ten long, lonely years. Ten fucking years. More or less. The man who was once called Jonathan Thorsonn, or JT for short, couldn't be certain. He knew he lost track of time on occasion. The most recent incident occurred when a cut on his leg became infected. Fortunately, he had made it back to safety before the fever really took hold. The cavern that he had discovered years earlier served as his primary base although he had several other locations where he stashed the supplies he stole as well as some of his home brew. While rarely drinkable, it had served him well over the years as an antiseptic.

That last infection, though, had been a close call. Luckily, Doc Frasier had insisted that he receive every childhood vaccination she could think of before she finally released him from her care. Since those vaccinations had to be done over a period of months, the petite doctor had to make a few house calls after he left the SGC for his new life. Unfortunately, some things were only good for a few years, so tetanus was probably in his future.

The man checked his latest batch of what he had come to call Janet's Brew. It was known to be tolerable in it's early stages and a quick taste confirmed that he would be able to have a small drink. He poured a bit more into a cup before heading back to the art gallery.

Over the years, he had begun to think of the woman depicted kicking ass on the cavern walls as Carter. He liked to think that his major would have appreciated it, not that she was ever really _his_ major. She was probably a colonel now though. Hell, she might have already earned her first star. General Samantha Carter. He like the sound of that. At any rate, it beat the alternative idea that some System Lord had finally beaten SG-1.

Okay, now he was more depressed than usual which meant he probably should pour the cup of Janet's Brew back into the vat. Screw it. He downed it in a single gulp, his eyes watering as it burned its way down his throat.

If there was any truth to drawings, there was a way out, a way back. He would find it. He had to.


	8. Day 1

Author's note: More bad language ahead.

**Chapter 7: Day One

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**

A tall, thin man in ragged clothing tried inching his way back through the crowd of slaves. He had been foraging for supplies when the guards had begun rounding up the workers. This wasn't the first time time he had been trapped but it had been quite some time since he had been this unlucky. Temporarily abandoning his attempt to slip away, he shuffled forward, head down, doing his best to blend in.

The guards drove the workers into a large cavern. A small figure had been tied to a central pillar. Probably female, the man thought, given the length of the hair that covered the person's face. Shit. He'd seen this before. The bastards in charge were going to kill another woman.

The head bastard began his rant. "Work and you will live." Yeah, if you could call this living, he thought bitterly. The woman raised her head and said something. He couldn't hear what it was but it was enough to earn her a fatal beating. Even from his vantage point in the far side of the cavern, he could see her defiance, as useless as it was. The beating and the accompanying tirade lasted for what seemed an eternity but he found that he could not look away.

Then something happened that he didn't expect. A guard released the body of the woman and dragged it to a nearby cage. The body was tossed in and the cage door locked. The woman was still alive he realized. No one would bother locking the cage if it only contained a corpse. He had little time to process that thought before the guards began herding the slaves back to their work stations.


	9. Week 2

**Chapter 8: Week Two

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**

Curiosity killed the cat, the man thought as he crept towards the cage where the woman lay sleeping. He had escaped the day after seeing her beaten but had returned several days later. The guards had a new routine. Each day, the slaves were driven into the cavern and the woman was beaten again. Day after day she was beaten. Somehow, she was still alive.

In all his years in this hellhole, he had yet to see a sarcophagus. There was no way a human could survive the treatment that she had received without one. Given that she looked human and wasn't long dead, his best guess was that she was either Jaffa or a snake. If he were lucky, she would be Tok'ra rather than Goa'uld but he didn't hold out much hope of that. Whatever she was, she was strong. Strong enough, he thought, to survive outside the slave caverns and mines.

He reached a hand through the bars of the cage and gently covered her mouth. She woke up. Her eyes widened in fear but to his relief, they did not flash gold. Jaffa, he thought, despite the lack of a tattoo on her forehead. He motioned for her to stay quiet and removed his hand. He picked the lock and opened the cage door.

She stood up slowly, a bit unsteady on her feet at first, and then followed him out of the cavern. The pair moved in silence, keeping in the shadows and avoiding the occasional guard, as they worked their way through the passages to the outside. They continued walking for over an hour before reaching the camouflaged entry to the man's home.

Once inside, the woman slumped to the ground in exhaustion. The man disappeared further into the cavern before returning with a cup a water. Passing it to her, he asked what her name was.

"Buffy."


	10. Week 3

**Week 3**

He sat on the floor and looked at the woman sleeping on his poor excuse for a bed. At least he hoped she was sleeping. She had passed out days earlier after giving him her name and had yet to wake up. He refused to acknowledge that she had most likely slipped into a coma from which she would never wake up. He could keep her hydrated but was a loss as to how to feed her beyond swapping out broth for water. Leaning back against the wall, he contemplated his options.

Option one, keep her hydrated and hope for the best.

His supplies were holding out better than he had anticipated but they were still beginning to run low. He figured he had about two weeks worth left before he would have to venture out to forage, less if she woke up. Given the extent of her various injuries, even if she did wake up, she would be stuck in the cavern for weeks if not months. He would need to spend more time foraging for the two of them. He would also need to venture out further than he would normally consider wise.

Option two, conserve his rations and let her slip away.

The question was, could he deliberately withhold all nourishment from her? Could he be responsible for starving her to death?

Option three, kill her quickly.

He pulled his favorite shiv from its sheath. He stared at the blade.

Lack of companionship had pretty well left him nuts. At least now he could hold a one-sided conversation with a comatose woman rather than the Carter on the back wall. A step up so to speak. Then again, he could do the same with her corpse.

He knelt beside the bed. He gently stroked her hair before angling her neck for a quick cut.

"Sorry, Buffy," he said softly. "Trust me, it's better this way."

As his other hand reached across her neck to deliver the death stroke, her hand shot up and grabbed his wrist.

"No."


	11. Week 3 Part II

**Week 3 Part II**

"No."

He was surprised by the fire in her green eyes and the strength of her frail looking hand as it had grasped his wrist. She held his gaze for several minutes, searching for something.

"No," she repeated.

"Are you sure," JT asked.

She took a deep breathe and released her grip. "Not going to let them win."

"Good enough." He straightened up and pulled away from her slightly as he returned his shiv to its sheath.

"Still here?"

"If by here you mean the butt-side of Netu, yeah, still here."

"Netu?"

"Long story, let's just say a place that makes the worst place on earth look good."

"I remember. Last time I was here it was not of the good." Buffy said as she closed her eyes. "Xander is so going to want to kick my ass. Probably could right about now. Should have called for backup."

JT frowned. "You've been here before?"

"Years ago. Followed Chanterelle, no, no, Lily," she paused for a moment be fore continuing "We got a group out, kicked some demon ass. Must have made quite an impression though 'cause the bastards still remembered."

He settled back, still on his knees but his butt resting on his heels. He recalled the murders he had seen committed over the years by the guards and how a disproportionate number had been young blonde females. He wondered if she had been the reason. He would have pegged her age somewhere in her mid-twenties which would have made it highly unlikely but he knew looks could be deceiving. Master Bra'tac looked in fine form for someone well over a hundred and Ra could have passed as a teenager. She didn't have a Jaffa pouch or the telltale scar of a Goa'uld host but she had survived beatings that should have killed her.

"What are you? A Tok'ra?"

"Toke what?"

"Goa'uld resistance? Fighting against Ra, Apophis, and the rest of the evil snakes?"

"Nope, slayer. Formerly The, now just the oldest," she said as her eyes drifted shut. "And the tiredest. Talk later."


	12. Month 1

**Month 1**

JT's new best friend had flitted in and out of conscious over the next few weeks, staying awake and aware longer each time she came to. He left food and water within easy reach of her pallet in case she woke up while he was foraging for more supplies. Some days, the only reason he knew she had woken up was that she had eaten something while he was gone. But on other days, the good days, she would rouse herself when he was there.

She had tried to explain what a slayer was. Bred and trained for a purpose that had his brain screaming Jaffa, disposable foot soldier. She said she was from Earth, California to be precise. Okay, maybe her brain was just a touch scrambled but hey, whose wasn't these days. He toyed with the idea of her being from an alternate reality but even then, vampires, werewolves, witches, and demons? In the end, he didn't care.

He enjoyed hearing about her family and friends. Dawn, the snarky, pain in the neck sister that meant the world to her. Xander, a young man who could apparently give Danny-boy a run for his money when it came to attracting dangerous women. He wasn't sure what to think about Willow. How someone could reconcile hard science with hocus pocus was a bit beyond him but it was fun imagining a meeting between Carter and the young hacker/witch. Another interesting meeting would be one between the Watcher/father-figure Giles and Daniel. He hadn't had so much to contemplate about in years. He did, however, think that a meeting of Teal'c and Andrew would be a bit much. Over the years, his tolearnce of even the original Star Wars trilogy had dwindled into non-existence.

"Hey," a voice came from the pallet. "Think you can give a girl some company?"

"Only if you promise to tell me about your first Halloween in Sunnydale again," JT said as he walked towards her.

Today was a good day.


End file.
